


The Old Guard

by Usagi_Mitsu



Series: Garlean Drabbles [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Allag (Final Fantasy XIV), Bar Noir, Cerelia cen Titus, Coup d'état, Culture exploration, Drinks All Around, Eula van Darnus, F/M, Gaius van Baelsar - Freeform, Garlean capital, Garleans, Garlemald (Final Fantasy XIV), Garlics for the win, Gen, Hadrian het Titus, Im just diving headfirst into my headcanons, Jazz Noir, Livia sas Junius - Freeform, Living in the city, Lucia goe Junius - Freeform, MSQ commentary, Mention of Mutilation, Mention of alcohol, Military, Mutilation, Nael van Darnus - Freeform, OCs - Freeform, Prima cen Junius, Quintus mal Naevius, Smoking, Solus zos Galvus - Freeform, Ultima Weapon, War Crimes, War veterans, Yes I tagged all these characters so that you may look at this fic, and yes they are all in here, and you thought Garleans were the only bad people, dont judge me, drinking alcohol, garlean culture, garlean drabbles, mention of characters, old soldiers, shifting loyalties, thank you for your attention, time skipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usagi_Mitsu/pseuds/Usagi_Mitsu
Summary: Garlemald.A country born from war and as such it held it's military officers in the highest of regards. There was no job more prestigious than being a soldier and if luck was with one, they would advance into a commanding station, earning pomp and circumstance for themselves and their family. And if necessary, they would pay the price in blood and lifes. Sometimes even their own.But what use had a nation of conquerors for those who were no longer fit to serve? What was left for those who had weathered the throes of war, but lived? What was left for those, who had to return home in what everyone would only ever call dishonour?There was a place of course. And in one of the highest towers of the capitals old city center did they try to find their peace ...
Series: Garlean Drabbles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777903
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	1. Once Upon a Time in Garlemald

**The Green Leaves of Summer**

* * *

The city was buzzing. People rushing out and about. Everyone was heading out for their afternoon and nights activities.

Work was done after all. So what was left to do, but to indulge in whatever the capital had to offer?

It was a very special place they found themselves in. For one, it was not down below in one of these filthy places underground, but much rather high above in one of the highest and most intricate towers of the city.

The establishment stretched across two whole floors. There were no walls, only prettily carved pillars to keep the building up right. The outside was protected by a myriad of clear glass windows – the pinnacle of garlean architecture.

The view ranged from the inner city to the north and south, to the bay with the imperial palace and to the outskirts and the mountain range. The natural border surrounding three quarters of the capital. The peaks were covered in ice and snow all year round; a beautiful treat to look at during the day. But it was night and only the lights of the shimmering city below were to be seen.

Muted piano music played in the background. The lights had been dimmed.

A lone barkeeper polished a glass and neatly placed it in the last empty space on the tall shelf behind him. A waitress gracefully walked between groups of comfortable chairs and side tables, kindly tending to the customers before taking the long route back to the bar. On her way through the taller rows of bar tables she collected empty glasses and took new orders. Walking by the stairs to the second floor she could hear the clatter of a newly started game of pool.

* * *

**Il Mercenario Ripresa**

* * *

The one who had just opened the game with a quick thrust of his cue was a tall man with gracefully greying hair. He wore delicate black trousers with a neat crease, a white dress shirt and the whole ensemble was held together by a pair of suspenders.

When he straightened his back to his full height, a stray lock fell in front of his third eye. The crease between his other two deepened as he surveyed his work and the wrinkles of his face turned into a displeased frown.

The next game would not be easy to win for him. But he was good at it. Better than his opponent at least.

“Why so grim? Has Hadrian the Great spotted a fault in his impeccable machinations?”

The voice belonged to one of two women slowly ascending the stairs.

The smaller one wore a tight black dress which glittered even in the low orange light of the bar. Her dark red locks had been artfully arranged in graceful finger waves across her head, adorned with bountiful jewellery. The foxy grin around her lips completed the look.

This one did not sport the signature third eye of a true Garlean.

The one who had spoken though, did.

She was a tall, her muscular body draped in a tight fitting dress of dark red. Short white hair framed an imposing, but elegant face of eyes as dark as the ocean, lips of velvet and said jewel in the middle of her forehead. In her hands she held a tablet with three glasses.

“Please,” Hadrian returned the grin with a slight bow, “quit your teasing. ‘tis neither the time nor the place.”

The smaller woman made her way around the table. Her eyes graced the newly opened game, before she walked up to the ‘great’ man and gave him a oft kiss on the chin.

“Don’t let her teasing get to you. She probably only fears that you might win this one again.”

“As if,” Prima laughed. “What a preposterous thought.”

She followed and held out the tablet

“Hadrian, Cerelia. This round is on me. Many thanks for helping me get through this most harsh of a time.”

Each of them picked their respective drinks. A blue cocktail with a cherry on top for the lady; a strong golden whiskey for him.

Cerelia smelled her drink. “It’s not such a bad thing, you know. They are your nieces. They need you and isn’t it an honour to-“

“Hush darling,” Hadrian placed a kiss on his wife’s hair without ever breaking eye contact with the other woman, “t’is true that there is honour in raising the new generation of proud garlean women, but what shame that her brother and her sister in law had to die for her to gain it.”

“I would much rather be back down at the front. But instead of that I will be playing nurse maiden. While that usurper Darnus gets to climb the ranks and that damned fool Baelsar gets to try his luck with the wild ones in Eorzea. And if their past achievements are anything to go by, they will both succeed.” Prima raised her glass of white wine. “To honour.”

And she downed half of it before turning her eyes to the freshly scattered balls atop the pool table. Another smirk grew upon her lips. “I see you took the liberty to begin. Well. Doesn’t this look interesting.”

“Do not think I will make this easy for you. But …,” he handed her the cue, “I may be at fault here, but I do not recall what your nieces were called. Would you mind reminding me?”

“Livia and Lucia. Do not ask me their ages. I do not know. And neighter do I care.”

Prima bowed down, angled the cue and came back up. She grabbed the small green cube of chalk and rubbed it across the tip, before taking her aim once more.

“Age does not matter anyways.”

And she hit her target.

* * *

**The Surrender (La Resa)**

* * *

It was much later in the night when the swing doors to the lower floor burst open. The handles almost crashed into the windows. The plunking of the piano slowed and faded as all eyes turned towards the intruder who dared to disrupt this well deserved night of thoroughly structured relaxation.

A group of soldiers rushed inside and came to a halt on the quickly emptying dance floor.

Prima had been angling her cue for one more devastating blast against her smirking opponent. But with the loud crash and the following silence she opted to postpone her sure-fire win for a glance down to the lower floor.

The new arrivals steps echoed through the suddenly rather quiet bar.

“By the order of his Radiance, his imperial highness Solus zos Galvus! All present are to return to their respective domiciles immediately!”

The guests gave each other unsure looks. The order did sound quite serious. But-

“You will need to tell them what is going on, boy.”

Prima had taken a few steps towards the stairs. She stood tall, shoulders back, chin up and with both hands on the cue stick as if she held the handle of a sword, ready to strike at any moment.

“This is an establishment of undoubted repute. All of its patrons serve or have served the very military you are a part off. And if I may,” the authority in her voice tilted just the tiniest bit towards sarcasm, “this is frankly not the way to address your superiors. Now. Speak up and do tell your most intriguing tale.”

Though, the soldier did not seem to hear her.

“Move,” he ordered once again, slowly reaching for his weapon.

“I would not proceed any further if I were you.” Hadrian stepped up behind his enemy in pool and comrade in battle. Standing tall like this had been a challenge ever since his ‘accident’. But he ignored the twitching in his left leg for the moment. If done right, this would not take long. “Speak your cause or leave.”

The soldier looked up. At the sight of him, he begun to stutter.

“Lord van Titus! My apologies! I was not aware-“

“ _Cen_ Titus. Have your superiors forgotten to teach you basic manners,” the man formerly known as van Titus harshly corrected, “speak or leave.”

It took the soldier a moment. He looked to his peers, but they only shrugged and stepped backward. Perhaps to get some distance between themselves and their comrade.

“Well,” one lone warrior in the middle of the dance floor stammered, “the Agrius has fallen. The emperor has decided that all abled current and former soldiers shall return to their homes to receive further instructions for … possible deployment to the front.”

The crowd murmured.

Hadrian shook his head.

“You have come to the wrong establishment, boy. You will find no abled bodies here.”

The former Legatus turned his back to return to his drink and wife. Downstairs, the people’s chatter arose once more.

The soldier tried again to order them all to go home. He tried once, twice. After the third time he simply shook his head and finally left for the door.

There would be other establishments. Perhaps they could fulfil their duty better in the bars and clubs of the lower class. Having the old guard at the emperors beck and call would have been quite the accomplishment. But it did not seem like they were

Prima watched the dancers return to the parkette before following her comrade. There still was a game to be won.

She inspected the tip of her cue one last time before leaning down again, when Cerelia’s voice cut through the returning of the piano.

“One would think the two of you glad. Which you are most certainly not judging by your rather sour expressions.”

While Prima decided to ignore her, Hadrian obliged.

“What are you eluding to, beloved?”

“Well. It may be just the smallest silver lining. But while Darnus might still be climbing ladders, your old friend van Baelsar seems to have stumbled upon quite the stone in his path, don’t you think?”

Prima could not agree more. Instead of answering though, she angled the cue and hit the ball.

She won that night.


	2. A Garlean Evening (in the Capital)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A country is a living, breathing thing. It evolves with time. Usually though, not as rapidly.  
> But with a mighty military at it's hand, the Garlean empire conquered province after province. Fifteen years later, it now streched from the Ruby Sea in the east to the borders of the Black Shroud.  
> And while the world around them kept on evolving, developing; they stayed the same. Or at least, they hoped.  
> 't was the night of an old friends return. Another night of drinks and enrichment of the other kind. And the night of grave loss.

**"One Silver Dollar" (Un Dollaro Bucato)**

* * *

It was another night. Just as beautiful as the one had been all these years back. The city had grown significantly and it’s lights had slowly crept further towards the mountains. What once had been neighbourhoods of villas with large green gardens, had over time been converted into more structured neighbourhoods of tight-knit apartment blocks.

With each newly acquired province the people’s wealth and health grew. Which in turn lead to more Garleans in general and a higher demand in housing space. And of course – the state happily obliged to entice any new recruit with the prospect of their own place to return to when they had been successful in war.

And therefore new lodgings had to be built. And the old manors of the elite had to make way for newer, bigger buildings with enough space to house twenty families instead of just one.

The city centre had changed too.

While the architectural archetypes of skyscrapers still lined the bay and had the best view onto the imperial island and the harbour, new ones had slowly grown around them, replacing older but less profitable structures. A new group of young artists had been allowed to put all they had into the designs and it showed: One tower seemed to have been twisted like a cable of pure Garlean steel. Another had been constructed with holes inside of it. And another one was made up of two towers looking exactly like each other, being connected via glass tunnels and bridges.

The people said the emperor was more than pleased with how the city had transformed. It was a well-known fact, that said emperor was a big fan of culture. And what other part of the empire had been growing more over the past decade and some?

Sure. Farming was a task made much more easy by the people being allowed to do it on healthy soil instead of bloody battlefields. The cattle also benefited greatly from being allowed to graze on lush green fields instead of having to make do with ceruleum covered hay.

But culture? Culture _bloomed._

A new young generation who had not yet seen the throes of war mixed with the veterans, both groups composing thousands of new stories – shorts and epics alike. Musicians from all over the empire, from the main land just as much as from the provinces, travelled to the capital to perform, mix and gain fame. With the gradual improvement of food the people were also suddenly confronted with a plethora of new restaurants and bars. If one felt fancy, they could dine at a traditional doman place and afterwards go for drinks at a bozjan bar.

But the changing times could not be felt better anywhere than in the theatre.

The emperor himself loved the performances, big and small; and rumour had it that he had seen each and every play. Be it the grandee displays at the state theatre or the one-man performances in the side alleys downtown.

Everyone who thought themselves something or someone of import simply _had_ to visit the newest plays and be knowledgeable about them.

But of course. There were also new military advancements. And even though the last decade and a few years had been rather quiet with the empire more intend on holding their provinces than gaining more, there had been changes.

For one, the border between Ala Mhigo and Eorzea had been fortified with a monstrosity of a wall. For another, the free state of Thavnair had become a big trading hub for wares from the empire to Eorzea and vise versa. And lastly, the Black Wolf had slowly and silently begun to erect new military basements within enemy territory.

A victory, as some would call it.

Gaius van Baelsar had always been a patient man and he was an expert at playing the long game. His colleague van Darnus on the other hand … less so.

Nael van Darnus’ plans had been a carefully kept secret and even to this day it wasn’t quite clear to the general public, what had actually happened. Normal people knew they were getting less products form Eorzea. Veterans and current military personal though were better informed. They were of one opinion: Dropping the planets secondary moon onto Eorzea alone would be deemed horrible. But also sacrificing a whole legion – namely the VIIth and endangering the XIVth – made the whole deed sacrilegious.

But even this big event - which cost thousands of life’s abroad - did not affect the Garlean mainland as much as it probably should have.

And even now, five years after the fall of said moon, nothing seemed to have changed.

* * *

**Davon Geht die Welt Nicht Unter**

* * *

A new night, many years after their initial meeting. The same bar, the same piano silently in the background. The barkeeper was new, the waitress too. The view across the city was a new one of course, but then again – this was just one side of the building. The other still overlooked the bay towards the imperial palace, which of course had not changed too drastically over the years.

But other than that, nothing in here had undergone any of the drastic changes the world around them had. Perhaps the layer of dust on the top shelves had thickened. Who knew. Nobody checked. Even the guests were still the same.

The old pool table creaked beneath new, heavier balls. They were scattered all across. One of the players leaning against the wall. He polished the tip of his cue while leading a conversation with a sitting man right besides.

Hadrian crossed his legs and took a long drag from his halfway done smoke. For this night he sported another dark pair of suit pants and a wine red shirt for once. The ensemble was held together by a sleek belt and topped off with an elegant bowtie. Aside from the ensemble, he had visibly grown older: His formerly black hair had yieled to a dark grey and his formerly less pronounced wrinkles had deepened enough to give his face a constant look of displeasure.

His companion, the one standing with the cue, seemed a bit younger. He sported a similar choice of clothes, but had elected to wear his shirt in white with a brown waist coat. His hair was light and short. It almost looked as if he was bald. Between his eyes he too sported one of those jewels marking him as a rightful citizen of the country – and a wiry glasses frame in gold to help with his sight.

The two men were lost in a deep conversation. Their accompanying ladies nowhere to be seen.

One of them stood in front of the restrooms marble sink, looking at herself in the mirror. She wore green tonight; a one shouldered evening gown. It stood in perfect contrast to her still very much red, but slowly whitening hair. This time though it was loose. Trembling fingers tried to drape it in a way she wished for it to stay, but the moment she let go it fell back into it’s place.

She grit her teeth.

Between her more than irritating locks skin was showing on each side of her head. Old, scarred tissue surrounding deep dark dents in her skull with only a thin layer of artificial membrane protecting them.

Her very own badge of disgrace. Not only did she not sport the Garlean eye, but she also had to constantly hide _this._ Double the trouble for one who lived in the capital of Garlemald.

Another pair of heeled feet clicked on the floor. Cerelia quickly covered her shame. But it was only Prima.

The last fifteen years had left their impact on the Garlean woman too. Her hair had been white before already. So no change here, except for it having grown long enough to be put it into an elegant updo and new wrinkles across her face and hands. She had opted for a navy blue dress of expensive velvet for this evenings occasion.

Cerelias hands went slack and she moved aside to grant her friend access to soap and water.

“The last time I saw these was when you were trying on veils for your wedding,” Prima leaned forward to wash her hands, “don’t you usually drape your hair to keep them hidden?”

A deep huff from the red haired lady with the wounded pride.

“If you recall, I wore a hat when we first entered. But since they are no longer allowing ladies to wear hats in this establishment, I had to give it up.”

The hat rule had been established in all of Garlemald after an attempted assassination. The emperor had not looked kindly to those who would hide deadly weapons beneath even something as mundane as fashion accessories. But of course, his Grace did not simply outlaw hats in all of the empire. He was kind enough to just make it illegal to wear one in public places. And of course, even the most distinguished bar was a public place after all.

“So where is your bag? Did you not bring your usual styling equipment?” A valid question, as Prima turned off the faucet and took one of the neatly folded towels on the shelf to her right to dry her hands.

Cerelia on the other hand grit her teeth, starring at her unruly hair in the mirror.

“I’m afraid my bag does not contain anything that might help me right now.”

“Then what does it contain?”

“… bracers.”

“Come again?” The inquisitive woman was genuinely puzzled.

Cerelia took a deep breath. Her whole body went from a generally tense posture to a much more relaxed one.

“You remember why Hadrian had to retire?”

“Well,” Prima sighed, “of course. He got shot in the knee and fought to the highest court against his early retirement. These bracers have something to do with it?”

A nod from the fox. “They help him walk. He had to wear them ever since he got dismissed. And it wasn’t too bad for many years,” she curled a lock of hair around her finger, “but his knee has gotten worse within the last few months and we had to get him a new one which would give him more stability. But…” She took another deep breath. “This one has to be worn above the pants – it’s not just a bandage any longer, you know. So he asks me,” Cerelia lowered her voice and raised her eyebrows, “’does it go with the suit?’”

“He did not.”

“Oh yes, he did.”

Prima watched her friend with an expression of disbelieve and almost understanding.

Because – of course – they were talking about Hadrian, the former legatus of the second legion. The man who had retired under protest after some savage shot him in the knee. The Garlean who had married a mutilated Miqo’te not just out of love, but spite and contempt. For his family. For his superiors. But most of all for those who had pushed so hard to retire him, that the emperor himself could no longer ignore their pleas and had asked Hadrian, one of his most loyal servants, to leave his services gracefully.

They were talking about Hadrian het Titus. The man who had – against all the odds – made do with what meagre resources he had been given in life and in battle. The man who under whose command the second legion had conquered not one nor two but three new provinces.

They were talking about one of the, if not _the_ most stubborn man in all of Garlemald.

She was his wife. She was her friend.

Prima sighed deeply. With one hand, she carefully disentangled the pins from her own hair.

“Well then. The way you support your husband is admirable. Now let me support you, my dear.”

And Cerelia could have sworn that she spotted the hint of a smile on Primas strict face.

* * *

**Un Amico & Ennio Morricone**

* * *

Hadrian shifted his legs. Again. He just couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how hard he tried. If he had one leg above the other, his bad knee would start hurting. But when he changed it up to have the hurting one on top, it felt almost worse.

How pathetic had he become to flinch at having his knee in an inconvenient position. This pain would not even have been an afterthought just a few years ago. And now he wasn’t able to sit comfortably any longer. How utterly ridiculous.

The familiar voice of his drinking companion pulled him back to the surface. “Are you quite alright Sir?”

“Yes, yes. I am quite alright.” Perhaps he had answered a tad bit too quickly.

The other gave him that knowing look through his glasses.

“Oh don’t patronise me.” The man with the eternal frown reached for his drink. “We are here to celebrate your retirement, old friend. I am no longer your commanding officer and,” he forced a smirk onto the surface, “I am no longer your charge.”

“And I did not miss your stubbornness for even a day. Van Baelsar had his flaws, but when I told him and his officers to stay in bed, they obliged. Not a word of protest given.” The new one in the round gracefully nudged his glass against the one in his former commanders’ hand and emptied it in one go.

“Oh are the two of you about to spill some whisky on our least favourite still active legatus? Please, dear Quintus – share all of your wisdom with us.”

Clicking heels announced the return of their dearest ladies to the table.

Prima, the one who had spoken, gracefully grabbed her drink and hurled herself onto a chair opposite of Hadrian.

“Come, join us and tell us all the latest gossip about … the Black Wolf.” The last words echoed across the table with mostly pathos, but also a hint of sarcasm.

“Aye, sit with us Quintus,” Hadrian gestured invitingly towards the table, “it has been too long since you gave us _the news_ in person. And … oh my!”

Cerelia followed Prima to fall down on the sitting arrangement between the lady and said husband. The later one’s eyes looked her up and down, gracing her freshly done up-do.

“Does it please you, love?” The fox curled one of the few strands left loose around her fingers. “Our dear Prima here is quite amazing when it comes to hair.”

“You look ravishing,” he assured her.

While husband and wife shared a chaste kiss, Prima rolled her eyes.

“Now. Quintus, do tell. Will you give us the latest news from the Eorzean front?”

The former member of the second and fourteenth legion took a deep breath. He joined his comrades in retirement and began gently stirring the last few drops in his glass.

“I take it none of you have heard what happened in Eorzea just a few weeks prior, correct?

“Well,” the man in wine red turned from his wife to his former physician, “rumour has it that a well connected group of scholars from Sharlyan have been working tirelessly to reinstate the Eorzean Alliance. But according to the most recent Acta Diurna … their efforts have been futile.”

Quintus snorted.

“Futile indeed. You remember five years ago? When the heavens would be covered with dark clouds for weeks?”

The three retirees glanced at each other.

“Did they drop another moon...?” Cerelias question was timid, but she knew well that Prima and Hadrian thought exactly the same:

What if they dropped another moon somewhere on Aldenard? Last time it happened, the higher ups had decided to sweep the incident under the rug. They had not let the general public known. Questions about why the heavens had been continuously clouded with black thundering smoke had been dismissed and anyone who did utter the question needed to be prepared for repercussions. Two of the empires most renowned astronomers were still in prison for … well. At least officially not for asking where one of the planets two moons had gone.

Of course, the trio was more than pleased by van Darnus’ failure and less surprised by the empires strong reaction. But that the usurping bastard had come as far as being able to do what he had done on the other hand … that was more than simply concerning.

So what could have happened, that the empire saw fit to cover up again?

Quintus grabbed the half empty whiskey bottle, refilled his glass and took a deep sip in preparation.

“No, no they did not drop another moon. But …” he lowered his voice, leaning in towards the others and they followed suit. “Said Eorzean Alliance made their move and to keep a long story short … they ousted us. I was waiting in Ala Mhigo for my transport back to the homeland, but I have never seen such massive troop movements. Well,” he nodded towards his former leader, “at least not since our days. Van Baelsar has fallen and nobody knows about the location of his highest officers-“

“Great,” Prima mumbled, “and so my families only hope for a decent name in this forsaken countries history is gone.”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Not that you ever truly cared. Well. Not since the other one vanished.”

The sole living member of the Junius family nodded, burying her face in her sherry.

“About that,” Quintus started but was abruptly interrupted by Prima coughing out her drink.

“You found my missing niece,” she wheezed.

“If that’s how you would like to call a defector? Then yes.”

The table fell silent.

Primas niece Lucia had vanished while on active duty quite a while ago. Nobody could tell what had happened. It had been weird: She had been just … gone. And now they were being told that she was not just alive – she had actually changed sides?

But while Prima drank whatever was left of her spirit in one go and Cerelia at least tried to comfort her – loosing two nieces at once was after all quite the shock - the gears in Hadrian’s head had been turning further already.

“You say Gaius has fallen. What do you mean by that?”

“I knew you would ask. The thing is … Castrum Meridianum, the place where he resided and governed from, well. It burned to the ground. There is nothing left of it. From what I’ve heard, they found the remnants of a few of the high ranking officers. Dear Livia among them.”

“But?” Hadrian raised his eyebrows, deepening his already magnificent forehead wrinkles even further.

Quintus chuckled.

“But no trace of the man himself. Or of his engineer. How was he called again ….”

“Garlond? Did the Wolf not raise Midas’ son?” Prima had recovered from her fallout. She was a Garlean lady. She would not let this get to herself. At least… not until she was at home.

But the former medicus shook his head at her question.

“No, some other lad from the academy. I think the name was Scaeva. Nero tol Scaeva, if I remember correctly.”

“You were their doctor. You should remember.”

Said doctor snorted.

“Do you think I remember any of your names? Harold cen Tibet, right? That is your name?”

What would have been quite the offense to his pride a just few years prior, now only made the retired legatus grin.

“So why did Baelsar need another gifted engineer? Judging from your tale none of whatever the man invented was helpful in finally getting a firm grasp on the savages.” Hadrian’s eyes bore into his old colleagues. The implication was rather clear: _What are you not telling me, Quintus._

The new veteran gazed deeply into his drink, seemingly pondering about how to phrase his next words.

All eyes on the table were on him, when he finally decided to answer.

“… I cannot say how much I am allowed to speak about this.” An explanation to cushion the blow if needed. “But from what I understood … they seemed as if they were trying to revive a weapon.”

“A weapon?”

“… a weapon of allagan make.”

A loud sound straddled them.

Prima was on her feet, hands firmly grasping the edge of the table. Her expression angry, cheeks burning red. When she raised her voice though it was naught but an angry whisper.

“And this is exactly why we need experienced men in the field! Men with principles! In our days of active duty playing around with anything of allagan make would have been out of the question simply by it being of _allagan make!_ We did not play with things we did not understand and instead did all we could to face and subdue our savage opponents and their thrice damned magicks! If Hadrian had been in charge-“

“Prima. Please sit down.”

That was all it took. Her name and three words from her superior and the woman with the eyes of an eagle and a tongue as sharp as any Garlean blade stopped her attack on the establishment.

Hadrian closed his eyes.

“I commend you, my dearest. And I truly understand. I am with you. But if our leadership deemed these kind of measures necessary, then we must respect their choice. And-“

“Darling,” Cerelia placed a hand on her husbands arm, “would you mind and listen for a moment?”

As the table fell silent, a static noise from below reached their ears.

The fox stood up gracefully. She made her way towards the stairs, the eyes of her companions following.

“Barkeeper… Harvey...? Right. Mr. Harvey,” Cerelia leaned down a bit to ensure her words would be heard on the lower floor, “would you mind raising the volume of the empfaenger? Please.”

A small crowd had already gathered before it. “Harvey” had to push people aside to get through. The sound of the static almost popped the ears of everyone in attendance before the broadcast came through loud and clear.

“ _…_ _we implore all civilians to remain calm. Please return to your homes. Please stay indoors._ ”

Hectic movement broke out all across the bar. Chairs scrapped across the floor as the visitors scrambled to get closer too the source of the message.

Uneven steps announced Hadrian by his wife’s side. He put an arm around her shoulder. Partially to reassure her, partially to take the weight off of his bad leg.

The broadcast continued for a few minutes with safety instructions and where to get help from if necessary, only to then return to the beginning once more.

“ _Attention! Attention! Loyal citizens of Garlemald_ ,” it crackled, “ _this is a public announcement. This afternoon at three hours and fifteen minutes our dear emperor, his imperial highness Solus zos Galvus took his last breath at the imperial residence in the presence of the royal family. We ask you to remain calm. His majesty, the royal prince-“_

But nobody listened any longer. All eyes turned away from the crystal transmitter. They followed the stairs and caught onto shining boots, black pants and a wine red shirt.

Cerelia studied her beloveds face. He seemed too have grown older by another decade in just this one instant. While he had closed his eyes in contemplation, she let hers roam across the other visitors.

She saw men and women. Most of them wore scars and did so proudly. Most of them were of Garlean origin. At least, their third eyes indicated as much. Some were not. But they did not look any less ferocious and of course, wore their battle decorations wherever they went the same as the purebloods.

And all of them looked up to where they stood. Of course, they did not care for her. Much rather-

“Hadrian. What shall we do? The choice is yours. ‘t has always been.”

Primas voice from behind drew Cerelias stare. The woman was calm. Collected. Quite the opposite of what she had been before.

She was awaiting orders. As she had done so many times on the battlefield. Relying on her friend. Her leader. Her legatus.

Their new companion too stood rigid. He had only left the military a few weeks ago after all. He was used to this, even more so than the others.

The grip on her shoulder grew stronger. Cerelia turned her gaze back to her husband and met him eye to eye.

“We are with you.”

It was naught but the tiniest whisper. The voice she usually used to sooth him. To calm him when he’d wake at night from reliving another fight for the lifes of his men. And for his own.

The civilian with the greying hair closed his eyes. But when he opened them again, it was Hadrian van Titus who addressed his loyal soldiers.

“You heard the broadcast. Please calmly return to your homes. Our great emperor has died. This is a time to mourn.” And his last words were almost silent, meant for the ears of his love only. “This is not the time to fight. Cerelia… my coat?”

And while the lesser officers filed out one after one, Cerelia got his coat.

Prima sighed. Quintus nodded in agreement.

This was a not their time to fight.

Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uff - this was a big one.  
> One thing that keeps on popping up in my head is, that I'm not supposed to like these people. I'm supposed to at least find them repulsive. They are not good people. If they had the chance, each and every one of them would kill the Warrior of Light on sight, usupr their superiors and use violence against the innocent.  
> But while writing them I've been getting to know them more and more. And while they are vile creatures on the battlefield, they are still human. Especially here.  
> Perhaps I will ad a fourth chapter with the characters backgrounds. Just for myself.  
> Also: This story sounds far less menacing when written down, than when I imagined it for the first time. I guess that's a good thing..? 
> 
> Anyways.  
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I am truly grateful for you having made it this far! Only one more chapter to go and I'd like to finish it before 5.4 drops. I do not know if I can make it. But if I can, it would be awesome. :) 
> 
> If you have any thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them!!! 
> 
> Thank you so much, please stay safe!  
> ~ Usagi

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to "The Old Guard" and another one of my "Garlean Drabbles"!  
> Thank you very much, I do hope you enjoyed your time with this story. If you did, I would very much appreciate a kudos or perhaps even a comment. I continue to try and learn and evolve, but I do need a little feedback once in a while to do so. Therefore, your constructive feedback is very much appreciated!  
> With this I'm getting quite a bunch of stuff out of my system. The whole story has already been plannend and will most likely be told in about three chapters, which in turn will be divided into smaller sections.  
> If you do catch the connecting theme of the chapter titles and intermediate headers, please let me know. :D I am REALLY curious!!!


End file.
